


Heart and Soul

by a_nonny_moose



Series: My AU [80]
Category: Markiplier Egos
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-05-21
Updated: 2018-05-21
Packaged: 2019-05-09 17:27:29
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,819
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/14720468
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/a_nonny_moose/pseuds/a_nonny_moose
Summary: Learning to be vulnerable is a road paved with broken glass.





	Heart and Soul

“Chica?”

There was no answering jingle, and Mark looked up from his computer. She had been right here, napping under his desk. A look around the room, confirming—Mark was alone, the setting sun casting orange light into an empty office. The others had gone home hours ago, Amy with a hand on his shoulder and a gentle admonishment to not work too late. 

He ran a hand over his face, taking a last look at the glare on the computer screen. Amy was right, as she always was, and he needed to call it a night. There were other things to do than to sit at his desk, eyeballs-deep in editing. Friends to see, jokes to tell, dogs to pet. 

But to do that, he had to find Chica. 

“Chiiiiiiiiiica?” Mark pushed himself up, only now realizing that it was getting dark, only now feeling the stiffness in his legs. “We gotta go, bub, Mom’s waiting for us at home.”

Still nothing, and a horrible sinking feeling in Mark’s gut. It was only him and the Egos in the office, but they were behind their door. They had promised to leave him alone this week. They shouldn’t have even known that he was here. 

It was against his better judgement, but Mark started for the door that separated his office—the physical one, anyway—from the Egos’ office. He’d never felt comfortable being alone with them, and for a moment, he considered calling someone. Anyone. Anything to make sure that he didn’t have to do this alone. 

The notion was gone in a moment. The door between dimensions was cracked open, just wide enough for a curious golden retriever to squeeze through, and Mark stopped just short of calling Chica’s name again. She was in _there._ With _them._

He couldn’t possibly have been more afraid, and even in his head, that sounded ridiculous. They were just figments, just ideas with too much power. _They had already hurt him. They would hurt Chica._

The door opened slowly, rippling with the weight of dimensions unknown, and Mark stepped through. He looked left, then right, then left again.

It was too quiet.

From upstairs, Mark could hear the stomping of feet, muffled conversation. Their rooms. If they were up there, Chica probably was, too. 

He started up the stairs with a hand on the banister, trying and failing not to look around. This side of the office was constructed out of magic, hidden in a pocket dimension. The wood of the banister felt real enough, solid, and if it weren’t for the slight warping of the walls, Mark could have pretended that nothing was out of the ordinary. 

He reached the top of the stairs with a deep breath, not yet ready to face the Egos, his ambitions, his fears. They were uncomfortably intimate, and all of them knew too much about him. They were the heart and soul of the channel, hidden from videos the way their half of the office was hidden from the world. Mark swallowed his fears, hiding, if not digesting them. They could wait behind the façade of a building, his heart and soul hidden behind a smile.

A bark from down the corridor, behind a closed door, and Mark decided that it wasn’t time to wax philosophical. “Chica?”

Whining, just out of sight, and Mark found himself sprinting. The room full of figments, laughing and relaxing, was already behind him, and they heard nothing. The next door rattled, desperate paws on the other side, and Mark braced himself for all of a moment before throwing it open. 

“Took you long enough, Wil—”

“Chica?”

“Mark?”

_“Dark?”_

“Boof!”

Chica wagged her tail happily, dancing around Mark. She barked again, nails skittering on the floor, pacing the room. Mark bent to put a hand on her collar, but Chica nudged him farther into the room, anxious.

“You’re not Wilford,” Dark muttered, and Mark froze. 

“Hi… Dark.”

“What are you doing here?”

“I was… working,” Mark stuttered, backing up, looking around for the first time. He was in Dark’s room. _He was in Dark’s bedroom._ “I—uh, Chica—” He didn’t finish the sentence, eyes finally adjusting to the gloom. Dark’s aura cast the room in an unnatural shadow, smoke curling at every corner. Dark himself was—in bed?

“I’m aware.” Dark looked over at him and Chica, teeth bared, an unfamiliar tiredness in his eyes. It was a familiar expression on Mark’s face, but never Dark’s. “Get out,” he said, without any trace of venom.

“I, uh.” Chica butted at the back of his knees, forcing Mark forward. “Are, uh, are you okay?”

Dark’s head turned slowly, dangerously. “What,” he spat, “do you care, all of a sudden?”

Mark took a step back, despite Chica at his heels. “Of course I—”

“The least you can do is not lie to me,” Dark snarled, and even Chica backed up with her tail between her legs. 

“Dark—”

“Shut up.” Dark struggled to sit up, blankets sliding off him. He was still wearing his suit, as ever, but it was crumpled, his hair disheveled. His aura curled around him, the smoke flickering at his shoulders, and started to solidify.

Chica huddled behind Mark’s legs as Dark’s aura collected itself, heavy limbs and glowing eyes, seated at Dark’s side. Dark leaned against her shoulder, staggering, but she only blinked, slow, staring between Mark and Chica with thinly veiled anger. 

“Hello,” Mark said, hesitant. It seemed rude, suddenly, not to greet her. Chica took a step forward, sniffing, but Dark’s aura bared her teeth, and Chica skittered back. 

“You see what you’ve done?” Dark growled, upright, his eyes meeting Mark’s.

“Dark, I don’t—”

“You do.” Dark raised his head, and Mark saw, for the first time, the crooked neck, the pained smile. Dark’s mask, his shell, his masquerade, fell, and the corpse behind it challenged Mark, eye to eye. 

“But—” Mark fumbled, trying to avoid the aura’s eyes, trying to match Dark, inch for inch. “How did this happen? It’s been months, you’ve never—”

“Please,” Dark scoffed, as best he could. “Is this something that the Doctor needs to know about? Trimmer, or the androids, or even your precious Warfstache?” Beside him, his aura shifted restlessly, getting to her feet. 

“I guess not, but—” Mark backed up another step, mentally distracted, reaching for the door, “—that’s not something I control, that’s the fans, and I—”

Dark didn’t move, but something in his face changed. It was harder, brittle, the heart of a man that had lived a hundred years with a broken neck, and it wasn’t hiding. “I think you’ll find you can help me quite a lot.” His aura took a step forward, bitter rage bubbling forth. 

Mark saw nothing but the smoke closing in, and suddenly, it was 2012 again. He was younger, and ambitious, and alone. Dark’s hand stretched through the darkness, glowing eyes and shark-fin hair and too, too many teeth. “I just want to talk.”

Mark wasn’t sure if he spoke the words or screamed them. “Please, Dark, _no_.”

Dark towered over him, leaning forward on the bed. “You broke my plans, and you broke my _spine_.”

“I didn’t—”

“You did this.”

Chica heard Mark scream, felt him fall to his knees beside her. She looked up, and there was another, larger dog towering over the two of them. Chica, tail between her legs, wrapped herself around Mark. She was no fighter, and all she could do was stand between her dad and the other dog and hope.

Dark’s aura took another step forward, hackles raised. Her growl echoed, thunder in the tiny bedroom. _Move_.

Mark felt Chica flatten herself against him, the both of them shaking. He wrapped his arms around her, holding her close. He started to scoot back, started to push her out of harms way. _Move_.

Chica held still, ears flattened. _No._

Dark’s aura moved forward, her face in Chica’s, growling. Rage, something deeper than rage. _Move._

Mark moved back, trying to push Chica behind him, at least, trying to find his courage in the face of teeth, teeth, too many teeth. _Move_.

Chica sniffed in the aura’s face, gentle. She was Dark’s power, anger and strung muscle and stardust held together by shadows. 

The aura growled, again, past the point of delicacy. Power, without the veneer of Dark over her. Chica was a blonde spot in the shadows, and only that. Good intentions and fragile heart, behind Mark’s loud voice and louder influence. 

“ _Move_ ,” Dark muttered, a not-so-gentle shove at his aura’s side, broken as he was. 

His aura looked back for a moment, her shell broken, then back at Chica, cowering, spun gold and steel.

Dark’s aura huffed, and backed down.

Mark looked up, feeling the shadows draw back.

Dark paused, eye to eye with his own aura. A moment, an unspoken conversation, and she dissipated into the air with a snarl. 

“Get out.”

“We were just leaving.” Mark found his feet under him, and Chica wedged the door open. In a moment, they were back in the upstairs hallway.

Mark took a moment to make sure no one was watching, that the door was shut behind him, that the hallway was devoid of entities, dark, pink, or otherwise. He took a moment to breathe, and his mask fell, and he was on his knees again. It was 2018, and his face was buried in Chica’s fur, and they’d survived another day.

Dark waited until the door had closed firmly behind Chica before turning to his aura, a grimace on his face. It was painful enough, broken neck and back braced against a century of wear. His aura stared him down, ruby-red eyes and teeth bared, disembodied. 

_They have something._

“What?” Dark spat the word, trying not to wince as his spine warped in on itself.

The hovering eyes blinked, slow, greedy. _Something you don’t._

Dark pushed himself up, stopping halfway. He could barely move, on the best of days, however well he hid it. He paused, a moment, trying to breathe. One, two, three, and his spine shifted into place. “What do they have?”

The fangs, then the eyes, melted back into shadow. 

_Spirit_.

And Dark’s power, his heart, wrapped itself once more around him.

And outside, Mark’s own heart beat her tail against the floor, pushing him forward. Determination, and discipline, and the idea that he had to _keep going_.

Mark stood, his heart again on his sleeve, as Dark sat back, his heart pulsing around him. Behind a cracked shell, they were well-intentioned, if in opposite directions. 

Tonight, with the twilight growing deeper, wasn’t the time to exact revenge for spines long since cracked, or nightmares long since invaded.

There were other things to do than point blame for the past: friendships, and laughter, and spirit.

 _“I, myself, am made entirely of flaws, stitched together with good intentions.”_  
― Augusten Burroughs  



End file.
